Kathleen Y'Barbo, author, publicist, mentor, critique partner, and dear friend used the coolest phrase the other day. I'm not sure if she coined the the term or heard it somewhere, but I swooned at the glamorous image the words conjured.
"Deadline Diva." Sigh.
"That's me," I crowed, since I recently signed my first contract with my very own deadline tucked inside.
I had it all planned. My calendar chart pinned up (in my mind at least) with my minimum daily word count, my critique submission schedule, one day of the week set aside to edit, and another set aside to rest.
I'd have my masterpiece rolled off the assembly line and shipped to my editor with time left over to rest before whipping out book two in the series.
Well, guess what. Deadline Divas exist in the same world where life is fair and authors make loads of money.
Where reality lives a deadline means late nights, early mornings, a dirty house, neglected spouse, missed appointments, unwalked dogs, broken promises, unanswered phones, unanswered email, fast food, frozen dinners, visible roots in stringy hair, no social life, no fun, stiff joints and a dead behind.
Oh yeah. And ten extra pounds.
Today I stared at my frightening reflection in the mirror and wondered who I was. Hardly my former idea of a Deadline Diva!
I leaned close and asked myself: "You really wanted this?"
Myself grinned back like a demented Cheshire cat and answered: "Honey, I was born to it."
Now that's a real Deadline Diva.
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